Brave New York
by miseradreamer
Summary: Sequel to Not So Strangers On A Train. New York is a little bigger than either Rachel or Santana had predicted and fitting in hasn't been working out very well.


**A/N:** This is the sequel to Not So Strangers On A Train, and it may or may not be updated in the future. Basically, if I get some inspiration to write more I will, but it's not going to be on any kind of regular basis. There was a lot of interest in a sequel and it just so happened that I got this idea in my head so I wrote it. Hope everyone enjoys and please read and review :D!

* * *

"It simply broke."

"You must've done something," Santana grunted, her upper body hidden inside the cabinet beneath Rachel's bathroom sink as she threw a hand back out, palm up, opening and closing her fist in demand.

"I didn't," Rachel protested, staring into the large toolbox sitting on her counter, beside where she was perched, before selecting a greasy wrench between just the tips of her index and thumb fingers and dangling it down to Santana's waiting hand, "I had put in my Fame dvd and was about to sit back on my couch to view it for the thirty-second time, when there was a sudden loud bang, jarring my attention towards the bathroom and as I dashed towards it, water began to spray in all different directions. I assure you, I was nowhere near it when the explosion occurred."

"Congrats Berry, you've even managed to annoy your imaginary apartment ghost so badly, with your musicals on infinite repeat, that it burst the pipe to put an end to its misery," Santana quipped, taking the wrench placed in her hand and Rachel watched it until it disappeared from her view. With the wrench gone, her eyes wandered to the shapely ass sticking out from the cabinet below her and she guiltily slapped a hand over her eyes and slouched back against the mirror behind her.

"He's not imaginary," Rachel pouted, keeping her eyes glued to the ceiling as she listened to the scrapping and clangs and felt the vibrations from the girl working underneath her, "You're not here at night. You don't hear all the noises, and the doors creaking open and closed, and this one time-"

"Yeah yeah, whatever," Santana groaned with a strained voice and Rachel could only imagine the flex of her well toned biceps as she tightened whatever it was that needed to be tightened down there, "I still don't get why you called me and not your super. Do I look like a plumber to you?"

"Well," Rachel sighed dreamily, as her eyes dropped back down to Santana's ass, her low rise jeans had fallen so low that she could see nearly half her butt along with the top of a dark red, lacy thong, "Kinda."

"Is that a jab at my ethnicity," Santana demanded defensively, with apparent anger in her tone.

"What," Rachel said, snapping herself out of her daze, "No! Of course not. It's just- I can see your butt."

"Oh," Santana answered slowly, and after a short pause she shot back, "Well stop looking you perv."

"Sorry," Rachel blushed, running her fingers absently along Santana's tools again.

"You're lucky my papi taught me my way around a wrench," Santana said, "But I still don't know why you didn't call your landlord. It's his job to fix these problems, not mine."

"I just-," Rachel sighed heavily, picking up a hammer and looking it over before putting it back down and choosing another tool, "I don't really feel comfortable with him in my apartment. When I called him to fix the broken light in my bedroom he was a little handsy."

"What do you mean _handsy_," Santana shouted angrily, so upset that she bashed the back of her head on the top of the cabinet as she backed out of it, "Oww."

"His hands have a tendency to roam freely towards my backside when my guard is down," Rachel replied, attempting to cover her giggle with a bite of her lip as she rested her hand on the bump forming at the back of Santana's head.

"Hold up, he assaulted you," Santana growled, her eyes went even darker than her usual black as they narrowed at Rachel and she raised the heavy wrench in her hand, gripping it as if she was ready to swing in attack.

"Calm down, Santana," Rachel said softly, moving her hand from Santana's head and taking the wrench from her hand, "You're blowing it completely out of proportion."

"Tell me exactly what happened," Santana ordered, her empty hand balling into a tight fist, "I am going to castrate that little cara de cona if he thinks he can touch any part of-"

"Santana," Rachel lightly scolded, passing her finger over the pulsing vein in Santana's temple, "Relax before you pop that little vein in your forehead. You asked why I called you instead of the landlord and I gave you my answer."

"Listen," Santana said, poking Rachel's knee, "Anytime you need something done just call me, don't even try calling that lowlife and I swear if he ever touches you again I will kill him. Very, very slowly."

"So have you found a job yet," Rachel asked, changing the subject. She knew that any further conversation on the matter would only rile Santana up even more than she was and decided a change of topic would be best.

"Sure," Santana replied while partially disappearing under the counter again, "Got that lounge job I was telling you about. Had it for two whole nights before they checked my ID and realized I was under twenty-one. I didn't need that crap shack anyway and I'm starting to get the hang of making frappuccinos at Starbucks. Maybe I'll make manager one day."

"Oh stop," Rachel groaned with a roll of her eyes, "You will not be working at Starbucks for the rest of your life. You have too much talent and it would be absolutely devastating if you let all of it go to waste. Keep trying and something will surely come up."

"Yeah, I guess," Santana said, dryly "So how are your classes going?"

"Good," Rachel answered quickly, too quickly, "I mean they aren't quite what I had been expecting and a lot of the other students are a tad-"

"Self-absorbed, egotistical-"

"Independent. They're not the easiest bunch to befriend."

"I wouldn't worry about it too much. It's impossible to ignore you forever. Just look at me."

"I have to admit," Rachel said, selecting a screwdriver from the toolbox and handing it down to Santana, "I am still trying to understand when this sudden change of heart occurred. It seemed like one day you couldn't stand the sight of me and the next you're kissing me in Grand Central Station."

"I'm pleading temporary insanity," Santana grumbled.

"You said you had wanted to do it for a long time."

"It's fixed."

"Already," Rachel asked in astonishment, "That was fast."

"Your pipe was just a little loose," Santana responded softly, putting the tools she had been using into her toolbox. "And I fixed the hinge on your door while I was down there."

"Thank you, Santana. I really appreciate you coming all this way and helping me out."

"Berry, I only live three blocks away, you're talking like I had to walk twenty miles in a blizzard."

"If this were only six months ago, you wouldn't have come to help me out if you lived in the apartment next to mine."

"That's not true," Santana shrugged, her hands resting on the edges of her toolbox as she gave her a coy sidelong glance, "I would've come, I just would've complained and insulted you more. And pretended like I had a million other places to be."

"_Pretended_," Rachel repeated, as if the thought had never occurred to her that Santana would ever need to pretend to have other plans. She had always imagined Santana having several different options of parties to go to each night and was able to choose from the selection. She couldn't picture the girl before her without a date on Saturday night or at least a large group of friends begging for her attention.

"I just mean," Santana said, taking a deep breath and letting her eyes drop back down to the toolbox, "I would've picked you over anyone else."

Rachel felt like she had stuffed her mouth with cotton balls and a tight feeling in her chest began to constrict that seemed to be squeezing tears into her eyes. Of course she knew it was silly to have such a strong reaction to Santana's simple words, but things seemed to be changing between them and Santana was suddenly starting to open up to her. It was just little things that she would slide in between her snide comments, but they were there nonetheless and Rachel clung to each one as if it was the last. With Santana's constant personality changes, it could be. She was starting to realize that Santana was an entirely different person when she didn't have the pressures of popularity and high school bearing down on her. She was still Santana, always overflowing with bark and bite, but every once in awhile she let her walls bend just long enough for Rachel to get a glimpse into her mind. The thing was, those glimpses that she was getting, seemed to be regarding Rachel and every time she let a new one slide, Rachel was thrown for a loop.

At first she had thought Santana was only being nice to her because she was the only person Santana knew in New York, but after hearing her reveal a line about her past every now and then, like tiny pieces to a much larger puzzle, that explanation no longer fit. They hadn't seen each other since the train station a couple months earlier, but they had talked on the phone almost everyday. It took some getting used to in order to see Santana as a sort of lifeline in New York, but she hardly lasted two days alone after her fathers went back to Lima before she was dialling her number. Since then they always made sure to contact the other, checking in to see how the other was doing, what they were up to, what they had eaten that day, and other menial things that never really meant anything to either of them, but they asked anyway just to hear the sound of the other's voice. New York City may have been crammed full of people, but still Rachel had never felt more alone. She missed her friends, or at least familiar faces.

The same time everyday, six-fifteen on the dot, Rachel found herself scrolling through the contacts list on her phone, stopping on Santana's name, then spending fifteen minutes with her finger hovering over the 'call' button, touching the screen to re-illuminate it every time it would darken, before giving in and calling her. Sometimes Santana would interrupt her ritual five or ten minutes into it, startling Rachel, who would instinctively press the 'answer' button before the first ring had even been completed. Santana would make a joke about how Rachel was just sitting by the phone and waiting for her call and Rachel would laugh nervously and tell Santana that the world didn't revolve around her.

Rachel had tried to plan a get together for them, coffee or dinner, but Santana always refused, insisting she already had plans or was too busy. After two months of trying to see Santana, she started to wonder if she really was different, or if the reason she was turning down her offers was because she didn't want to be seen in public with Rachel. It was entirely possible that Santana's new group of New York friends were like the ones she had in high school, too cool for everyone else. Especially Rachel's type. Whatever the reason was that Santana kept turning her down, she finally stopped trying to make plans and learned to accept and enjoy their strictly phone relationship.

They never talked about the kiss in Grand Central Station, Santana never brought it up and Rachel decided she would when she was ready to. She found herself thinking about it often, though. It had been such a shock when it happened, but she could still remember how it felt and how her lips had tingled for the rest of that day. Sometimes she would be swiping the pads of her fingers across her lips as she thought about it, without her knowledge, until several minutes had passed by. She recalled every second with such clarity, as if it played on repeat in her mind, that she knew exactly how long it was before she felt hands tentatively holding her hips before gaining confidence and sliding behind her back, wrapping around her and pulling her close. She remembered how warm she felt all over, with her body pressed so tightly against Santana's, that the heat would've been stifling in any other situation, but since it was a measure of their combined lust and arousal it was entirely wanted. At least, she thought it was mutual. It seemed like it. It felt like it.

She wanted to feel it again. After they had kissed she had been able to convince herself that her reaction was due to her sudden and abrupt break up with Finn, along with the excitement of New York, but as the excitement wore off and the feelings about Santana stayed, Rachel began to realize that these feelings were much stronger than any of the ones she had for Finn. It wasn't love. She still wasn't entirely sure she liked Santana all that much, but there was a raw attraction she felt that she couldn't push aside. It was entirely physical. Sometimes she would sit in her music history class and imagine Santana storming in, yanking her from her chair and shoving her up against the wall, kissing and biting, and then Rachel would have to silently slip away to the bathroom.

The feelings were new. She had never had thoughts like that at McKinley, about Santana or any of the other girls, but she wondered if she was too focused on Broadway and trying to fit into the popular crowd, that she never gave herself the opportunity to consider it. She knew why she had liked Finn and it certainly wasn't for his dopey grin, below average intelligence or incapability of remembering a single thing about her. He was the quarterback of the football team and she needed the popularity of being his girlfriend. She never considered that it would backfire and instead of her status going up, his went down.

So here was Santana, after all the times she had refused to meet with her, telling her that she would rather spend her time with Rachel than with anyone else. Rachel wasn't even sure how to respond to that. Instead, she swallowed dryly and changed the subject all together.

"Would you like to use my shower," Rachel asked, voice cracking as she tried to moisten her lips, "I can find you some clean clothes to change into."

"Oh please, you actually think I can fit these into one of your tiny-tots shirts," Santana snapped, pointing towards her breasts before pinching the front of Rachel's red top and giving it a slight tug, "Besides, I wouldn't be caught dead in something as fashionably faux pas as anything in your closet."

"I can find some sweats and a t-shirt, Santana," Rachel sighed, folding her arms across her chest with a pout, "You haven't seen everything in my closet."

"Fine," Santana said with a shake of her head, rubbing at a dirt smudge on her forearm, "but only because I feel like I have at least three layers of grime coating my skin."

"Yeah, you have a little," Rachel paused as her eyes followed her thumb, swiping across a black smudge of dirt on Santana's cheek, before continuing slowly, "-dirt there."

For a moment everything seemed to stop. Rachel's eyes stayed focused on the black smear, enjoying the feeling of soft, smooth skin beneath her fingers, before she realized that a long silence had fallen over them. Her eyes flickered shyly from the mark to Santana's dark eyes, but exchanged her blush for shock when she found Santana staring back at her with the same dreamy look. Not quite dreamy. Her eyes were filled with too much cool sex appeal to be considered dreamy, but Rachel was at a loss for a better fitting word.

After that it was like her fantasy in music history class. Santana's hands sprang forward, gripping Rachel's ass and jerking her hips forward to collide with Santana's as her shoulders fell back against the mirror. Without a second for Rachel's brain to catch up with what was going on, Santana was already leaning over her, lips pressing hungrily to Rachel's as her fingers tightened on her ass. Rachel's hands found their way to Santana's neck, sliding up and into her hair, fisting the dark locks as she tried to keep up with Santana. The hands on her ass moved down, over her shorts to the bare backs of her thighs, lifting them to Santana's hips until Rachel crossed her ankles, locking her legs around her.

Her lips were still furious, kissing so rough that she was pressing Rachel back against the mirror, harder and harder until Rachel worried it might break. The worry was not enough to make Rachel stop Santana, it felt too good, too perfect, and Rachel decided she didn't need the mirror anyway. At some point, when Rachel had been distracted by the lips attacking hers, Santana's hands had returned to her ass, and suddenly she found herself being lifted from the counter. Rachel let out a startled squeak as Santana carried her towards the tub, lips locking back against hers as Santana set her down inside and stepped over the edge after her. She was only standing on her own two feet for a second before Santana was lifting her again and pressing her against the back tiled wall of the shower.

With one arm beneath Rachel's ass, Santana used the other to slip under Rachel's shirt, fingers massaging her side as her thumb dipped under the waistband of her shorts. Her hips began to roll against Rachel's and although it all felt good, so completely flawless, and this was exactly how Rachel had wanted it in her fantasy, in real life, Rachel wasn't ready for it.

"Wait," Rachel mumbled against Santana's lips, her hands resting on Santana's jaw and gently pushing her away.

"What," Santana asked breathlessly, her eyes darting all over Rachel's face as if they couldn't stop on one part on her.

"You should shower," Rachel gasped, trying to control her own breathing as her heart thundered in her chest.

"I thought that's what I was doing in here," Santana smiled, a devious lopsided grin before moving back towards Rachel's lips.

"Yes," Rachel answered quickly, before Santana could kiss her again, "So I should leave."

Santana stared back at her for awhile, Rachel figured she was trying to decide if she was serious or not, then finally lowered Rachel's legs gently, until she could stand again. She took a step back from Rachel, giving her the freedom to move, but at first, Rachel could only stay slumped back against the wall, watching Santana's eyes roaming over her body as she pressed a hand to her fluttering heart. When Santana began to move back towards her, Rachel found her footing again and on trembling legs, she managed to step out of the tub and all the way out of the bathroom, without a glance back.

She closed the bathroom door behind her, letting out a long breath she didn't realize she had been holding, then went straight to her room in search of clothes for Santana to change into. Hastily selecting, a pair of shorts and t-shirt that had once been her McKinley gym uniform, she walked back out into her small living room and set them down on the coffee table. She glanced around the room, momentarily unsure of what to do with herself, then as she heard the spray of the water hitting the tub, then the change in sound as Santana stepped under it, she decided to collect her dirty clothes and put them in the wash.

She turned the knob slowly, careful not to make a sound as she silently slipped inside the bathroom and gathered Santana's dirty pile of clothes on the floor. Biting her lip, she took a quick look at the closed shower curtain, before sliding back out as quietly as she had arrived. Rachel dropped the clothes in the washer, checking Santana's jean pockets before putting them in and did her best to not really look at her undergarments.

After the clothes were washing she returned to the couch in her living room, sitting down on it and tapping her thumbs together as she tried to think of something to do while Santana was showering. Something that didn't involve her slipping back into that bathroom, stripping down and joining her.

Rachel groaned as her head fell back against the couch and she squeezed her eyes shut.

"Stop thinking about her," Rachel whispered to herself, pressing the heels of her hands to her eyes.

"So where are those clothes you were talking about," Santana asked casually, startling Rachel and making her wonder how long she had been sitting there with her hands over her eyes. It had seemed like it had only been a few seconds, but it was quite possible that she had dozed off a bit while in thought.

"Right here," Rachel whispered, blindly pointing towards the coffee table when her eyes finally registered what Santana was wearing, which was a towel. A small towel, just long enough to cover the important parts, but not long enough to hide the beads of water dripping down her long toned legs. Dark wet hair framed her face with thick wavy pieces, covering her shoulders and speckling them with water droplets. Rachel's eyes followed one of the droplets, streaming down her neck until it disappeared between her breasts, then answered blankly, with her eyes still locked on Santana's cleavage, "And I put your clothes in the washing machine so that they wouldn't stain."

"Thanks," Santana said, taking the clothes from the table and looking them over, "I guess these aren't so bad. I mean the shirt's gonna be a little snug and I have no idea why you decided to bring your McKinley rags to New York, but it ended up working out for me."

"You're welcome, I think," Rachel said, furrowing her brow as she tore her eyes away from Santana, "I'm just finally sitting down to watch Fame, you wanna watch it with me?"

"Definitely not," Santana said, turning back into the bathroom, but leaving the door open as she changed so Rachel could still hear her talking, "I'll stick around, but I'm not watching that movie."

"I can't afford to pay for cable, so I've been selecting a DVD, in alphabetical order, from my collection every evening," Rachel said, looking over at her selection of DVDs beside her TV, mostly musicals, "Tonight, I've reached the 'F's and my first movie beginning with that letter is Fame."

"Well do your ghost a favour and skip to your next one."

"I believe that would be Funny Girl."

"Next," Santana groaned stepping out of the bathroom in Rachel's old gym clothes. The shorts were much shorter on her than they had ever been on Rachel, exposing enough of her legs to make Rachel do a double take and temporarily forget her search for a suitable movie. As her eyes slowly spanned the tanned, long legs moving towards her, she almost gasped when they finally got up past the shorts. The shirt she had given Santana was definitely snug around the bust and the pull of the material caused the hem to sit in line with her navel. Below that, she was wearing the shorts so low on her hips that it was practically indecent and Rachel found herself staring at all the smooth skin that seemed to be uncovered just for her eyes.

"Hey, Berry," Santana said, snapping her fingers at Rachel as she blinked and finally looked back up at her with vacant eyes, "My eyes are up here. But if you see something you like..."

As Santana let the end of her sentence hang, Rachel gazed back down to her midsection, where Santana was now hooking her thumb into the waistband of her shorts and just slightly pulling them down. Rachel finally shook herself out of her trance and smacked Santana's hand away from her shorts, shooting a stern glare up at her, "I was only... admiring your well defined muscle tone. Obviously your years of training with the Cheerios has given you an... exceptional body, and I was simply wishing that I could get mine to have the same definition."

"You want to touch me," Santana teased, taking a step towards her and lifting the bottom of her shirt an inch.

"Grease," Rachel answered, her eyes narrowing as she held her stare, refusing to look down at the skin being shown to her because she knew she would lose her resolve, "The next movie is Grease."

Santana chuckled lightly as she let go of her shirt, turning around and walking towards Rachel's DVD collection, dragging her finger across the spines before halting abruptly on one of them.

"Wait, hold up," Santana said, pulling the DVD from its slot and holding it up so Rachel could see the cover, "What's this?"

"I don't know how that got in there," Rachel lied with shrug, "It must've been one of my dads or maybe Finn's."

"Yeah, right," Santana snorted, waving the DVD case, "Cause I can totally see your dads cozying up to an evening with The Grudge and Finn would wet his giraffe sized diapers. You hiding a horror buff in there somewhere?"

"Occasionally I enjoy watching a horror film, as long as there is someone else around to keep me company," Rachel admitted, eyes following the case as it moved in Santana's hand.

"Perfect, you gots company, so let's pop this baby in so your ghost and I don't have to suffer through another showtune infected movie," Santana exclaimed, already placing the disc in the DVD player without waiting for Rachel's approval.

"I don't think that's such a good idea," Rachel sighed, chewing her lip as her eyes dropped to her lap, "I don't sit very well through scary movies. They make me quite jumpy and I've been known to scream. A lot."

"Wanky," Santana said, lips curling up in a sexy smile as her eyes flickered towards her before they returned to her task of setting up the DVD.

Rachel threw her back an unimpressed look as Santana finished with the player and straightened back up to face her. Santana folded her arms across her chest, standing her ground as she stared back at her.

"Look, I'll grab us one your big fluffy blankets off your bed and then we can sit back on the couch and enjoy the movie," Santana reasoned, gesturing towards Rachel's bedroom, "If you get scared, you can hold onto me. Or whatever."

"You mean we can cuddle," Rachel questioned shyly, teeth biting gently into her bottom lip as she tried to cover her smile.

"For the record, I never used the word _cuddle_," Santana pointed out, disappearing momentarily into Rachel's room and coming back carrying a large pink fleece blanket.

"You know, that tough girl attitude is only cute some of the time," Rachel said, shifting on the couch as Santana took a seat beside her and covered them both with the blanket, "Sometimes, a girl would rather be in the company of someone who actually appreciates her and acts like they want to be there with her. I'm not going to make fun of you if you drop the act for a little while."

"Sorry to tell you this, Berry," Santana said, eyeing her sideways as she picked up the remote from the coffee table, "but it's not an act. This is me and if you can't deal with that, then I'll be on my way."

"Whatever you say, Santana," Rachel mused, turning her attention to the movie that was beginning to play.

She tried to focus on the movie, but in her peripheral vision, she could see Santana giving her side glances. Ignoring it for as long as she could, she finally turned towards her and asked, "What is it, Santana? Is this going to be an insult involving how large my nose is in profile view?"

Santana kept her head forward as she closed her eyes and chuckled softly before she replied, "No. Actually, I was just sorta thinking that you look good today. I mean, not just good, but like- I dunno, like beautiful or something."

"You think I look beautiful," Rachel asked softly, biting down on her bottom lip as she looked back at the TV.

There was a long pause and Rachel worried that Santana was going to burst out laughing and tell her she was joking, but when Rachel finally dared to glance over at her, she found her staring back at her with a serious face. Not just serious, but nervous too and maybe even a bit scared.

"Yeah," Santana whispered finally, nodding her head, "But not just today. You kinda always looked beautiful."

Rachel watched Santana's tongue slip out, running along her lips before disappearing again and all she could think about was how much more she wanted her now.

"Stay," Rachel breathed, so quietly she wasn't even sure if she'd actually said it or only thought it, but as soon as it was said, Santana's eyes widened and then she was licking her lips again.

"You mean, like, the night," Santana whispered back, visibly swallowing as she tripped over her words, "Like with you, I mean with you-with you. Like in your bed?"

"By the time the movie is over it will be pretty late," Rachel explained, dropping her eyes to the nervous fingers fidgeting in her lap, "And I will inevitably be thoroughly terrified, so I would appreciate it if you stayed so I'm not alone. And then I can prove to you that my apartment ghost is not my imagination."

"Yeah, maybe," Santana shrugged, turning her attention back to the movie, but Rachel could easily see through her facade, "Depends how I feel after the movie. I might be sick of you by then."

Rachel rolled her eyes, but still had an amused smile on her lips as she too focused back on the movie. However, a full minute hadn't even gone by before Rachel needed to speak again, "So you like me?"

"Oh my god, Berry," Santana groaned and smacked her head back against the couch, "Like seriously. Do we really need to talk about this?"

"I would like to talk about it, because I'm a little confused," Rachel admitted, "One day you're singing love songs to Brittany and then the next you're kissing me in Grand Central Station. You can't just brush it off, Santana, you just kissed me again in the bathroom and were leading it towards-"

"Whatever, so I like you," Santana shrugged, refusing to meet Rachel's eyes, "I just don't get why you gotta make such a big deal about it."

"What about Brittany?"

"I gots dumped."

"So, I'm you're rebound," Rachel asked, trying her best not to sound disappointed, but the soft quiver in her voice gave her away.

"No," Santana sighed, "She dumped me because of you."

"Me," Rachel gasped, almost exaggerated to the point of a cartoon character.

"Yeah, I don't know, I guess she said something about how I don't look at her the same way as I look at you. I tried to explain that it was because I wasn't disgusted by her, but she seemed to think it was something else. For some reason she's got like the craziest idea in her head that I wanted to go to New York so I could be near you."

Rachel chewed on her lip shyly, pausing before asking the question that was burning in her mind, "What was the reason you came to New York?"


End file.
